


Who Knows Where The Time Goes?

by zilchs



Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, fake record company, girl idk how these things work just trust me okay, i didnt do my research this is gay monkees fanfiction, sorry - Freeform, they sound a whole lot like real life monkees but like what do u expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zilchs/pseuds/zilchs
Summary: They made it, somehow.No more starving, no more begging for gigs, no more angry landlords.They were rich, they were famous. But they were different now. Something's changing in their group, and they don't know how to approach it.Will it bring them closer or will it tear them apart?
Relationships: Micky Dolenz/Mike Nesmith
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. Changes

They had made it big. 

Finally.

Miraculously.

Thank you, Lord up above.

After nearly three years of getting rejected by club owners. Music producers. Record executives. Promoters. Nearly everyone involved in the music industry, they had made it. It seemed that everything in life was new to Peter, but this fame and fortune was newer than new, and he was ecstatic. Davy was pleased as punch. Mike masked his excitement with a confident air, like he always knew this was in the cards. And Micky thought it was a dream.

It had only been a few months before when they were hungry, starving overworked musicians. That month they had been booked for a six week stint at the Vincent Van Go-Go, playing for two hours on Fridays and Saturdays and getting paid probably less than they should’ve been. That week had been especially rough on all of them. Mike was pretty good at keeping his emotions in check, but too much was just too much and his temper was getting worse and worse. He had yelled at Peter on Tuesday and spent all of Wednesday trying to make it up to him. He really didn’t mean it and felt terrible as soon as the snarling words left his mouth, but Peter was sensitive and needed some time. It had left Micky on edge and Davy irritated at Mike.

They played a show on Friday, their energy wavering as they seemed to walk on eggshells around each other. It had been fine, but it could’ve been better. Mike always thought it could be better. They could’ve gotten the world’s most voracious applause and Mike still wouldn’t be completely satisfied.

“C’mon Mike, it was great! Don’t be so uptight, man,” Micky said, packing away his kit.

“Uptight? Don’t be so uptight, man? Micky, we’re broke and starving. We’re always fuckin’ broke and starvin’. The only way we’re not gonna be broke and starvin’ is if we play good. And not just ‘good’ but really, really good,” Mike huffed.

Micky was slightly taken aback by the Texan talking to him like he was a child, but decided it was best to let it go for now.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he began dismantling his cymbal. “But I still think we sounded pretty good.”

Mike pursed his lips and furrowed his brow as he opened his guitar case. Sometimes it was great to have Micky around because of his endless optimism, but other times Mike just wished the drummer would agree with him. Get fired up with him rather than put out his fire. Oftentimes he felt like Micky truly didn’t understand. He had grown up with a mother and a father and two little sisters that adored h im in a middle class home in Hollywood. It had all been so easy for him. He had never gone hungry or worried about living on the streets like Mike had. Growing up in poverty in Texas. Suffering from abuse at home and abuse at school. He wanted out. He wanted to be rich and famous so he wouldn’t suffer anymore. That was his big plan and he would make it happen. 

“You write those songs?”

Mike turned around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. It belonged to a shorter man, just a little taller than Davy. He wore a suit, dressed much smarter than any of the club goers around him.

“Who’s asking?” Mike straightened his posture and placed his hands above his large belt buckle.

“No need to get defensive, cowboy,” the man stuck out his hand. “My name’s Mark Baufman. I scout out talent for Prism Records. You guys are good. Especially you. You write that stuff?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Mike’s eyes lit up at the compliment.

“Well, I think you got a shot. I think Prism wants you. All four of you, of course. Why don’t you swing by around eight on Monday to talk it over?” He handed Mike his business card and walked away before getting a response.

Micky had watched the whole interaction from the band stand. He walked up and hooked his chin on Mike’s shoulder.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Talent scout. Thinks we’re real good. Says we have a chance with Prism,” Mike handed the drummer the business card.

Micky’s eyes went wide and he grinned.  
“See Mike! What’d I tell you? I told you we were good!” He hooped and hollered and ran over to the other Monkees to tell them the news.

It took all of Mike’s strength to not kiss him right then and there.

They had gone into Prism Records as planned and recorded two songs.

They were played on the radio in the next month.

And everything, everything, had glowed white hot since then.

They had enough money to stop living together. They went their separate ways physically. Peter and Micky bought big houses in the middle of everything, wanting to be where the action was. Davy bought a smart little house up in the hills. And Mike secluded himself as much as he could in southern California.

It was incredible how much things could change in just a few months.

Davy was still obsessed with girls and they were obsessed with him, but he was slicker now. Wittier. He dressed even slicker than before. All designer pieces. Expensive silk and expensive jewelry adorned his body. He knew what he wanted and he got the very best of it he could.

They were all reluctant about leaving Peter to live on his own, but as it turns out, he never was alone. Everyone liked the sunny, dimpled bassist. There were always people moving in and out of his home. His naivety was all but gone too, replaced with a light and airy personality that welcomed all people and all ideas. He was willing to try anything once. The blond boy opened and blossomed like a lotus flower.

Mike was even more stoic and serious than before. The more cameras flashed in his face, the harder he scowled. The more people asked him what he thought were stupid questions, the louder he huffed and sighed. Davy found it to be unprofessional and annoying, getting into tiffs about it with the guitarist more than once. Micky thought it was strangely enticing. How the Texan could never be a people pleaser. Always had to be mysterious and rebellious.

But even though he held an air of discontent in public, Micky knew it was just a mask. Mike was elated to be famous. To have his face printed on magazines and to be getting paid thousands just for playing his songs he loved was an incredible experience.

Micky knew that he must’ve changed drastically just like his bandmates, but he didn’t really feel it. He grew his hair longer and wilder and took more risks with his fashion, but he didn’t think there was much other than that.

It was just that whenever Mike touched him now, he felt electric.


	2. Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Monkees as a group continues to grow. As do Micky's feelings for his former roommate.

It was like falling in love for the first time all over again.

When Micky first got a crush, he was ten years old. She was a pretty blonde that sat in front of him in class, her hair always in pigtails. She was smart. She knew all the answers to difficult science problems just like Micky. She never made fun of him either. Never called him skillet face or told him he was annoying and loud. She was always so nice and Micky really appreciated that.

He had crushes on lots of girls throughout his youth. Always the nice girls that smiled at him first and laughed at his jokes and bad impressions. Always the girls that were really into science and read lots and lots of books, just like him. His first real girlfriend was named Collette. They were both juniors in high school. Micky liked that she was different from all the other girls. She had dark hair pulled up in a bun and long legs, matching his own height. She was whip smart too, able to keep up with Micky in every area he excelled in. Talking science, talking music, talking cars, machinery. She had the same hunger for knowledge and same voracious curiosity as Micky.

They dated for almost seven months and she seemed happy until she wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after breaking up with him. “I should’ve just listened to everyone else.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, struggling to keep his very strong emotions inside.

“They all told me you were annoying. They said you were like a puppy and that I’d get tired of you. I guess they were right. I’m sorry, Micky.”

Micky was left with a sort of dull pain. It was the same thing he’d always been told. Sit down, shut up, you’re being too loud. Stop being so obnoxious. You’re so annoying. Attention seeker. Brat. It was all the same. Why be upset about the truth?

So Collette had been his first real love and first real heartbreak. Falling in love with Collette felt natural. Boy likes girl. Boy loves girl. Nothing sparkling or new, it was just like everything he was taught in health class.

Falling in love with Mike was like being tossed from heaven and never reaching the ground. Eternal airy bliss.

-  
Ever since the Monkees had popped out onto the scene with their two songs recorded at Prism and interesting group dynamic, there’d been a rapacious demand for more. The execs at Prism saw the group as a big money maker with tons of potential and decided to give them a three record deal to start out. 

Micky had been ecstatic, as per usual with any good news. Davy and Peter had also been pleased, Peter accepting it as if it was just a breeze blowing through the trees while Davy accepted it with a sort of smug attitude. Mike, ever the contrarian, had some issues.

“Three record deal sounds pretty nice,” he drawled, tipping back his seat in the stuffy office they were all in. “But I got some demands of my own, if you don’t mind.”

Davy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

The big executive let a look of shock cross his features momentarily. Then there was a flash of anger. And then a mock smile spread across his tanned skin. Micky was scared. He was always scared when Mike did this, make demands. Somehow he always seemed to get what he wanted. Or something pretty damn close to it, at least.

Mike tipped his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, looking the exec in the eye. He was always wearing the darkest sunglasses now. Micky felt a strange sensation bubbling up inside him.

“I wanna be in control. Of the sound. Of the songs,” Mike said.

Peter furrowed his brow.

“We, Michael,” he remarked.

Right. Of course. All four of us.”

Micky could see the anger growing faintly on his features. Mike could be such a dick sometimes. Still, Micky got butterflies.

“Point is,” Mike continued. “I don’t want anyone telling me - or us - what to do and what not to do. It’s gotta be just the four of us.”

“Artistic integrity,” the executive half-scoffed. Mike kept calm and cool, staring him down and tipping his head back slightly.

“Alright, fine,” he stood and stuck out his hand. Mike stood and shook it. “Artistic integrity.”

“It’s always gotta be about you, huh?”   
Davy huffed as they left the office.

Micky and Peter trailed a few steps behind the other two Monkees, anticipating the tiff. They were always fighting now. Two totally different personalities trapped in a totally different situation than what they were used to.

“It’s not all about me - it’s just not all about you for once,” Mike replied, calmly cutting the Englishman down. 

The four boys stepped inside the small box of an elevator. Micky leaned against the wall. 

"That’s rich, that is. You’ve been jealous all this time, haven’t you? Finally got something for yourself, that’s it, right?” Davy snarled.

Mike shrugged. “Whatever, Davy.”

The elevator dinged and they all stepped out. Mike and Davy went opposite directions. Micky stayed back with Peter.

“Doesn’t it bother you when they fight like that?” he asked the blonde.

“It used to, but I’ve opened my mind,” Peter replied calmly. “Michael and David are both capricorns. They both have ambition. Ravenous ambition. They’re both identified by the goat, therefore they’re both stubborn as the goat. They’re bound to butt heads. It’s healthy for them. Feeds their astral energy.”

Micky nodded along to what Peter was saying, understanding it vaguely. Just a few months prior the bassist had been so...dumb, even though Micky hated to admit it. He still had his moments but for the most part he’d gotten so intelligent.

“I guess that makes sense. Still makes me nervous, though. Like they don’t love each other anymore,” Micky sighed.

Peter smiled warmly at his curly haired companion.

“Of course they still love each other. They’re bonded. Just like how we love each other. And I love Davy even though he might be difficult at times. And Michael loves me even if he can’t understand me at times. And, boy, does Michael love you,” Peter explained.

Micky scrunched up his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve always been his favorite. He’s always been your favorite. I’m not offended, it’s sort of nice actually. You guys are cute,” he grinned.

Micky decided not to pry any further.

“Thanks, big Peter. You always know what to say. Even if it is a little weird,” Micky patted his cheek affectionately.

“Anytime, Mick,” he pecked a small kiss on the drummer’s cheek.

Micky was used to him being overly affectionate, but he fake scoffed anyway, dramatically wiping the kiss off his cheek and sticking his tongue out. Peter laughed.

“See you around,” he walked off, the sunset of the late day making him shine a lovely pink. 

Micky felt giddy. He felt like he was seventeen all over again, with a big fat crush on the prettiest, smartest girl in school. Except for the fact that this was the prettiest, smartest boy in his band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh jeez oh Crap sorry for making mike such a. dick he gets better I promise


	3. Ain't Nobody Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micky's feelings are bubbling over until they spill out completely.

Micky thought about Mike a lot for the next few weeks.

He seemed to always be thinking about Mike now. Mike, Mike, Mike. Mike was kind. Mike was funny. Oftentimes they’d stay up laughing into the wee hours of the night. Micky treasured a lot of the memories he had from when they all lived together. Sometimes it was crazy. He still wasn’t sure if they’d really gotten Peter’s soul back from the Devil or if it was a drug-addled dream they’d all shared together. But he mostly missed sleeping with someone. He was really too busy to be cruising some girl. Too tired to take her home to talk and screw. He also just wasn’t looking at girls that much anymore. Or when he did, he’d imagine them with big, dark sideburns.

Back when they all lived together, he shared a room with Mike. And that really was enough. Just knowing there was another person with him at night, just in the bed across the room. On nights when his mind felt too overactive and wouldn’t let him rest, he’d listen to Mike breathe in his sleep. He’d shut down all the other noises around him, the hum of electricity, the busy night life of Malibu, every mechanical sound working in his brain, and he’d listen to the softness of his bandmate’s breath. He took deep breaths and let them out through his nose, which wheezed ever so slightly. He sounded so peaceful. And when Micky would peek out over the covers and get a glimpse of the guitarist, he looked pretty peaceful too. Micky wanted him to feel like that all the time.  
He wondered how Mike slept now. Was he as peaceful as before?

-

“All four of you have to do it. The rest of America wants to know all about the newest rock and roll sensation.”

Micky fidgeted with his fingers. Peter smiled placidly, but Peter was always smiling anyway. Mike’s fingers twitched, but overall he stayed the perfect image of cool, calm and collected. Or the perfect image of a disinterested bastard. Davy was the only one that was intrigued.

“Of course we’ll do it. Personally, I love giving interviews,” he said, placing his hand on his chest.

“Do you love giving interviews or do you love getting attention?” Micky asked. Mike smiled for a split second.

“I love getting attention? Micky Dolenz himself is saying that I l ove getting attention! Have you forgotten that night at the Vincent Au Go-Go when-” Davy started, seething.

“That’s enough David,” Peter interrupted calmly. “I don’t think Mark needs to hear that story.”

The story ended the same way every story about Micky ended. Several illegal things happened and he was barely clothed for some reason.

“Thank you, Peter,” Mark eyed the two bratty Monkees curiously. Micky huffed and slumped against his seat.

Mark hadn’t intended to become the manager of these four wild boys, but it just sort of happened that way. Mike said he liked him and wanted him to manage them and really that was it. No one really agreed, but no one really objected either.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Mark continued. “All four of you have to do these interviews. Mike, you can’t hide in the background forever. Everyone’s dying to know about the mysterious cowboy.”

Mike made a displeased sound.

“And Micky - you can’t fake being sick forever. You ain’t a kid anymore, babe. America’s interested in what’s in your head.”

“America is going to be sorely disappointed,” Davy quipped.

“Ha, ha, ha,” Micky responded sarcastically.

“Both of you quit your yapping,” Mark interjected. “Interviews. Press. Be here at eight tomorrow or I swear to God I’ll...do something about it. Something drastic.”

Micky stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good threat, Mark. But, y’know, just try to be a little more stern about it. Maybe make a fist. You could even hit Davy to really get the point across.”

Davy scoffed and was about to retaliate before Mike stood and grabbed Micky’s shoulder, leading him out of the room.

“Eight, we’ll be here at eight,” he said to Mark over his shoulder.

The Texan kept a firm grip on Micky’s shoulder as he led him out of the room and down the stairs gently. Micky tensed and looked at him, confused. Mike peeked down at him through his dark sunglasses.

“Gotta keep you on a leash, boy, make sure you don’t start jumping on poor Davy.”

Micky looked at him for a moment. Then laughed. And laughed and laughed, leaning on the guitarist heavily.

“Come on, Mike. We’re just playing. It’s like when we were living at the Pad and we would play wrestle. It wasn’t real.”  
They turned a corner together, Mike’s hand gentle on the curly-haired boy’s shoulder.

“Davy getting stitches in his forehead after you slammed it into the coffee table seemed plenty real,” Mike drawled.

Micky rolled his eyes. “You know I regretted that immediately. I never meant to hurt him! The little weasel just wouldn’t stop biting me. Motherfucker.”

“I know, babe. You guys have just been arguing a lot. You’ve been a little different lately, Mick,” Mike opened the door to the outside, to another parking lot in another corporate setting, holding it open for Micky to step through. “Anything on your mind?”

Oh, God. Anything on his mind? Yeah, just being maybe, possibly hopelessly in love with you even though you’re definitely, probably straight. No big deal, Mike.

“Y-yeah, actually,” Micky stammered. The sun was beginning to set. Another sunset in another parking lot. It was mid-July, so the California air was sticky and alive with excitement for another summer day. “Can I come home with you?”

Mike smiled. A wider smile than Micky had seen in awhile, one full of crooked teeth and warmth. A familiar smile, like coming home.

“Sure, Micky.”  
-

When they arrived at Mike’s house the sun was just a sliver over the palm trees. A glowing pink above the treetops. They had shared a blunt and were settled in Mike’s spacious living room, talking about several different things. Like new material for the album, shared memories of the Pad and was Peter trying to grow a beard?

“I think he is! I don’t think he just forgot to shave, I think he’s not shaving on purpose,” Micky snickered, pointing to accentuate the “purpose” .

“Can you believe it? Our baby’s growing up,” Mike wiped away a fake tear.

“Peter with a beard. Man, that’s strange. Do you think he’ll look good?” Micky asked, leaning in closer subconsciously, his knee pressing against Mike’s.

Mike hummed and pondered the thought for a moment. “Yeah, he’ll look good. Peter’s hip and groovy, he’ll make it work.”

Micky giggled against him and started bouncing his leg. “Hip and groovy! Hip and groovy!”

Mike smiled at him warmly. He really missed this. He didn’t spend a lot of time with anyone anymore, and it was quite a dramatic shift from spending almost every minute with the drummer in his band. Micky was so warm against him. Slim body always radiating heat. Micky was sunshine inside and out. He glowed, always and forever. Recently he’d been more dim than bright, but now he was back one hundred percent. The pieces fit together in Mike’s mind, but he’d never be able to admit it to himself.

Micky stopped giggling and fidgeted with his fingers. Mike captured them in his hand.

“You do that when you’re nervous. It’s just me, Micky babe,” Mike said.

Micky flashed his eyes up at him. He let a shy smile spread across his face slowly.

“You said there’s something on your mind. It’s not Peter’s beard, is it?” Mike asked, letting go of the drummer’s fingers.

“No, it’s not that, it’s..” he waved his hand dismissively. “It’s stupid, Mike, really.”

Mike noticed his body language. Micky was usually open, with his limbs everywhere and in constant motion, but now he was closed in on himself. He shifted further from Mike and returned to playing with his fingers.

“No it ain’t. Nothing on your mind is stupid. It’s just me, you can tell me,” Mike assured him, bravely scooting closer and placing a hand on the younger boy’s knee.

Micky bit his lip and looked out in the distance. Mike had a big wall that was mostly glass, a beautiful window into his backyard. He noticed the colors of the sky and the great, big green of  
the wilderness but didn’t really focus on anything in particular. He either told Mike now or bottled it up forever. And he hated keeping something from Mike. He took a deep breath.

“Have you ever had feelings for like - for like, uh, guys?” Micky asked, tensing in case Mike took a swing at him.

Mike let out a funny little sigh. He grabbed Micky’s shoulders gently and turned him so they were facing each other. “Micky, have you ever seen me with a girl?”

Micky opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Did I ever come home to the Pad at ungodly hours of the night? Did I ever go chasing girls with you and Davy and Peter? Did I ever talk to y’all about girls?”

Oh God. He hadn’t. Suddenly, everything made sense to Micky.

“You’re gay?” he asked abruptly.

“I suppose I am,” Mike grinned crookedly. “I never noticed girls the way I was supposed to. I thought it was pretty normal not to look at girls. I thought every boy liked boys. At least, for a while I did. Then we started going to church more and the pastor preached about how it was a sin. Didn’t feel like a sin to me. I felt normal enough.”

Micky didn’t really know what to say or how to feel. Mostly, he felt bad. How could he be best friends with Mike, share a room with him for almost three years and not know this fact about him?

“I kept it hidden pretty well through most of my life. Ma didn’t let on that she suspected anything. Neither did any of my siblings. Dad was never really home to get much information about me,” Mike continued, leaning against the couch and scratching at his sideburns. “But high school was rough. Just bad. Just awful. Not only was I poor and ugly white trash, but I was gay and poor and ugly white trash. Got called a lot of nasty things. I don’t really know how they knew I was gay. Just asshole intuition, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” Micky murmured.

“It’s okay. It’s all over now. And I’ve been with a few guys but nothing, uh, nothing loving. Or real. Or long term,” the Texan rested one leg across his knee. “So, yeah. I guess you could say I’ve had feelings for guys before. Why do you ask?”

Micky’s eyes widened as he realized what he was about to reveal.

“Well. I - I guess I’ve been having feelings for a guy and it’s pretty confusing,” Micky admitted.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been bickering with Davy because you have a crush on him,” Mike deadpanned.

Micky laughed light and airy. And then he thought of the word crush. He did have a crush on Mike. He always thought that word was reserved for the way boys felt about girls and vice versa, but it was true. He was a boy with a crush on a boy.

“It’s not Davy, no, can you imagine? That’s - yuck,” Micky made a face. And then he mustered up all the courage left in him. “It’s you.”

Mike felt his heart leap heavenward, but he remained calm. This was a moment he’d been thinking of ever since he met the sunny Californian those three years ago. He fell in love the moment he caught a glimpse of that toothy grin.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure I - that took a lot of courage and I’ve been, y’know, thinking about it for weeks,” Micky replied, voice climbing higher as his anxiety suddenly spiked. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I’ve just been bottling that up for so long and it’s gotten so hard to be around you and I just-”

“Micky,” Mike said softly, cupping the curly-haired boy’s cheek in his hand. “It’s okay.”

Micky looked deeply into the guitarist’s eyes and started tearing up, his bottom lip quivering. He placed a trembling hand over Mike’s. “It’s okay?”

"It’s okay. C’mere,” Mike pulled him into his lap.

They’d been close before. They’d sat in each other’s laps before. It was normal. Playful and affectionate the way friends were. But the entire atmosphere had changed and this was much different. Micky didn’t really know what to do, so he just sat there straddling the Texan’s waist.

“It’s okay, Micky. It really is,” Mike brushed long fingers through unruly curls. “We’ll make it work. I promise.”

The night creeped in, blanketing Mike’s house in a shroud of darkness. Micky didn’t feel quite as lonely anymore. He gripped Mike’s torso and silently prayed that he’d never have to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW !!! banged out like ten pages in one sitting what u get is what u get. hope u enjoy. really wanted to update this for awhile and just got the motivation today. beep beep thanks fo reading


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